Some Folks Laugh Some Folks Frown
by Scandalous Dreams
Summary: "Our actions define our legacy. Regardless, on who made them." Zelda never thought she'd be of any signifigance in life. She's not the hero. She's never exactly the villian. And when it came to to it, she never realized how good chasing revenge was.
1. So much Family

**_I do not own anything Fallout._** I'm just a girl looking for inspiration. However, I do own my character Zelda.

Well hello Fallout Fanfiction readers! It's been a long time since I posted anything and on chance I got into the writing feeling. I wrote this in four long days and I am just exhausted. I know this was supposed to go out Sunday but I think it will justly said that I feel it was worth it to have the extra day to finish this up.

I hope you all like this. Especially since this is a rewritten version of my first version of, Some Folks Laugh. Now I'm going to say that from this chapter on I doubt they I will be writing in 5-6,000 word chapters. So hopefully I don't disappoint you all too much.

Please read and review. I'd really like tips and reviews on what I can improve on. Any grammar fails I missed. Who doesn't? So at this I leave you to read this lengthy first start on our journey. I'm actually satisfied with what I wrote...Thanks.

I'd say this is read best at 3/4 margin. Enjoy!

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><p>"Where we are going always reflects where we came from."<p>

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><p><strong>Late February, 2248**

At the news of Linda's pregnancy Joseph had talked, walked, and searched far and wide across the geography of Arizona for an experienced doctor. The task was as difficult as it sounded, but Joseph was a determined man with the right amount of caps to succeed. Joseph found Schleiden at the outskirts of a place called Kachina Village; his friend Herbert recommended the man in exchange for enough beer to have his stomach pumped.

Dr. Schleiden was a stout well dressed man. Middle age and balding. He lived modestly. A little extreme. The man had himself heavily guarded by a dozen men in leather with lead at their hips at all times. He was smart though when Joseph thought of it. Hell he and his tribe slaughtered the Red Tats for their medicine man. Talented physicians were equal to Before The War gold. The man was properly paranoid.

Their meeting was odd, with his wife offering sugary bread while five Mercs kept a keen eye on him. And gun. They concluded their business later that day. Dr. Schleiden and the same five Mercs would meet him two-thirds of the way to Flagstaff. Dr. Schleiden would examine his wife and give them a prognosis. He would repeat this six more times, the last nearing the due date where he would be in charge of the birth and care of any complications the baby could have.

He did not see Linda's robotic reactions to his enthusiasm, through his own blind excitement.

**/September 7, 2248**

Joseph stared amazed at the little bundle in his arms. He stared at its pink flushed skin and then he stared at its tuft of dark hair. He could feel the stupid shit eating grin plastered on his face as he held the slumbering child. He had held this being for only a minute and he already felt protectiveness flow through his body. It was a she, and she was his first-born. She was the beautiful thing that he and his wife had created nine months before, and as he watched her breath he could feel his eyes water.

But then the doctor he had searched far and wide for called him back with urgent news. He immediately worried for his wife. Would fate fuck him over and let his woman die even with the help of an actual doctor? "Your wife is having another baby," Schleiden gasped out to him before running back to where she screamed for the doctor.

He would never had guessed that she would be carrying two babies. Even Dr. Schleiden seemed surprised. Said it had been some time since he delivered a twin birth.

He carried his daughter to Linda's side, gently switching the arm holding her so he could grasp Linda's hand. She looked terrifying. Her hair matted to her forehead with old sweat. Her face was slick with new. He could feel her nails digging into his palms as she screamed unintelligible things at the ceiling.

The minutes ticked by and the harsh sounds of birth gave away at the sound of his second child's shriek for air. Everything around him blurred as he watched the doctor clean it, her he observed, off with priceless medical equipment. Only when the second wrapped bundle weighted his arm did he turn to their mother and handed them off ever so gingerly.

He whispered, "Names?"

Linda panted quickly, "The first is Zelda. After my friend." And then she begged, more morphine.

Joseph thought for a second. "My mother's name was Lenore, so I like that." He murmured.

Afterward, relief in her veins, Linda examined her children as her husband finally gave himself one hand to cry his happiness into.

At the door, only an aged, one-eyed Merc eyeballed the manner in which the woman held her children. Close enough for the two not to squirm but distanced to not feel their warmth.

**/Mid Novemer, 2253**

Momma looked about the same, hair still pretty through the apparant bed head. The color under her eyes was the only thing that looked any different. She sat at the kitchen table tiredly, sprawled in a wooden chair. Fingers circled a mug of coffee with steam rising out of it.

Zelda's child mind did not sense or see anger so, it decided, now would be a good time to talk about last night.

She entered the eating room quietly. She took short and close steps, but she wore an engulfing night-gown which exaggerated every move she made. The Pajamas were for a youth years older than she was. Daddy said she could grow into them. Inside her mind, she could not comprehend why Daddy thought she would be upset. They gave warmth when she was cold. That was what clothes did and as long as they did their purpose then she reasoned there was no reason to cry or pout.

Oh but now the dress was making her skin itch. Surely Momma will see her coming from across the room and realize who it is. She will jump up and scream and thrash around in anger over the girl who left her bedroom to get the mother who was supposed to give relief, especially when you woke up from nightmares.

By the time she shuffled beside her mother she had made herself frenzied with anxiety and fear over what the woman would do. Her tiny palms and neck were slick with sweat. Her heart pounded in her head. She wished to go outside and sink into the ground like water than face her mother.

Said mentioned woman sighed "What is it Lenore."

Zelda was caught off guard by the comment of her sister. She swerved her head side to side in search of the blonde. The girl was no where in sight. She looked up in bewilderment at Momma's squinting face. "It's me Zelda."

Momma took a sip of her coffee and glanced at her daughter. "Are you sick? You look feverish." She took another long sip. Both hands cradled the cup.

She waited expectantly for Momma to reach out and feel her forehead. The minute that passed felt like an hour before the child quickly murmured no. Her face felt even hotter afterward. She uncertainly grabbed Momma's soft pants. "Was that Daddy's friend?" She blurted out after Momma began looking at her hands questioningly.

The face of her mother displayed many emotions at that moment. The two dominant ones were mild astonishment which quickly morphed into skepticism. She suddenly got up from her chair with new-found energy and glared down at her curious, young daughter. Arms crossed her full breasts and in the next second she was squatting in front of Zelda. She spoke sweetly, grabbing Zelda's tiny shoulders. "Zelda, _my darling_, mommy thinks it's time to give you a talk."

Linda swooped her daughter in her arms and transversed through the kitchen door. Much to her daughter's surprise, she walked past their bedroom and continued on to her own. The room was the second largest in the house, next to the kitchen, and was sparsely decorated with furniture. The bed wasn't made. The comforter was dark blue and decorated with intricate swirls and lace. Zelda was entranced. When Momma placed her at the head of the bed she curled her toes at the softness. It was beautiful.

Momma sat next to her on the large bed. Two arms slithered around and pulled her into the soft form of Momma. For some reason, she couldn't remember the last time Momma held her this close. So she breathed in her scent; the smell of soap and something sweet. Instinctively her body squirmed closer to the warmth and she wanted to fall asleep right here. She didn't even bother thinking of holding this moment over Lenore's head. She just wanted this to last forever.

"_Baby_ are you listening?" Momma whispered into her hair with the same sickly sweet voice. Zelda realized she did not like that voice. It reminded her of rattlesnakes. Poised and ready to kill. She curled closer, fighting the urge to pull away from the voice.

She stifled through her mother's chest,"Yes momma."

A hand stroked her bangs. "That man last night was _mommy's friend_, understand?"

The girl scrunched her face in concentration. That was Momma's friend? She hesitated before nodding.

"Now that man is mommy's friend. And mommy has lots of friends." Linda looked at her daughter expectantly. Feeling the motion through her breast she continued. "Mommy has a lot of friends. _They like to visit her_. But daddy _can't know_ about them, alright?" Linda felt it again. "Daddy can't know of them because they're giving me his _present_. His _surprise_. You _wouldn't_ want to have a surprise for you _spoiled_, would you?"

Actually, Zelda would, but she nodded anyway. Her thoughts wandered to what the present could possibly be. The guesses were interrupted when Momma pulled her face to hers and stared an uncomfortably intense stare. Her hands gripping Zelda's face a little too tightly.

"You can _never_ mention mommy's friends. _Ever_. Understand?"

She whispered yes, watching her mother let go of her and lean back into the pillows. Mother's eyes turned empty as she stared at the wall and let out an exhausted breath. "Why don't you go play with your sister Zelda, darling. Mommy's feeling a little drained."

Unconsciously it irked her that Momma called her the wrong name. This time she did not correct her. As she was about to exit the bedroom, she turned back, nearly witnessing the crumbling facade of her mother, but her brain too undeveloped yet to understand. "Will you give Lenore the talk too?"

"Of course."

She left. Her five-year old brain swimming with uneasiness. Her body hungering for the maternal affection that from this day be denied from her.

**/January 30, 2255**

Zelda shifted under the covers. The yelling grew louder and then she woke up.

She sat up to yawn and rub the sleep from her eyes. It was still night. Half asleep, she finally became aware of the yelling outside the door. Looking around, she startled herself when she saw the silhouette of her sister peeking out it. She wiggled free from the entanglement of her covers and clumsily stalked to her sister's side. "What's happening?"

Lenore barely flinched at the sudden appearance of her sister. She glanced at up and hissed, "Daddy's home. He says we have to move and Mom doesn't want to. Hush and listen."

So Zelda did. She crouched next to Lenore and after some shuffling they both eased into a silence only interrupted by the soft whispers of their breathing.

She saw the outline of her father. He faced away from them and spoke in a hushed tone. "Lindy I ain't arguing with you we're takin' the kids and headin' West."

"You wait a goddamn second Jo! You can't just make a decision like that without me!" Mother screeched.

"_Calm down_ Lindy! I have a good reason if ya let me tell you."

"What Jo? What could you know that would be a good reason to move our family to_ fucking Cali_?"

"Lindy I'm askin' ya to lower ya voice one more time cause you're gonna' wake the girls if you keep acting hysterical."

"Hysterical? _Hysterical_! I'll show you fucking hysterical you ass!"

She heard stomping footsteps followed by Daddy asking where she was going. A door slammed shut so hard it shook their bedroom walls. Lenore looked at her and she nodded. As quietly as possible they slipped out of their room. They crept closer to the sounds of daddy pleading with mom. Then they peeped past the wall corner and saw Daddy. He was begging for Mom to come out, one hand rested on his hip while the other kept knocking. They could hear better at this spot.

"Baby ya gotta listen I ain't just sayin' this for shits n' giggles." He hesitated for what seemed like forever. Daddy sighed and said, "Caesar's makin' the rounds toward Flagstaff."

Zelda thought back for anything she knew on this man, See-ser. Nothing. The door opened and it caught both of them off guard as they ducked behind the wall.

"You're sure? Absolutely sure?" Mom said. She sounded scared.

They peeked again. His eyes were wide and it was from here that Zelda could see the circles under Daddy's eyes."Yup. My boys caught sight of 'em. Two of them escaped. They took the caravans and burned everything. Jack looks like hell."

Mom looked away in thought. When she looked up, she whispered, "How long do we have Jo?"

"I want to leave tomorrow morning. We'd be fine for a while but I won't take any chances."

"We can live in Vegas."

It looked like it surprised Daddy as much as it surprised them when Mom leapt at him suddenly and kissed him, ending any objection he might have had. He gradually lowered his arms around her waist. She having snaked her arms around his neck. Zelda could hear the sounds of their mouths as she and Lenore scurried back to their room. Both were eager to go and sleep after hearing the life changing news.

This, See-ser, Daddy spoke of him not too kindly. Maybe he was a bad guy. She remembered Jack. A gangly, long-limbed man with a square jaw who told really funny jokes. What was hell? And how could someone look like it? Her questions remained unanswered. Struggling to return to soothing dreams.

Eventually she fell asleep to the muffled moans of her parents love-making.

**/January 31, 2255**

The next morning the Feller family packed everything important that could fit on the backs of two brahmin. The children could not hold their excitement for travel, and their eventual disappointment when they were told to leave many of their things.

Joseph's friends Han and Tammy helped with packing and went with them as Mercs.

Linda made a gigantic fuss over having to leave her treasured bedspread. The family abandoned a home with memories and possessions for the scavengers to pick through.

**/?, 2255**

Months later, a Legionary Recruit explored the leftovers of a scavenged house for any possible people. Stepping over children's toys he began the tedious search. There was no food in the kitchen. The living room was empty side from a stained, spring spurting couch. He found a girl's dress concealed in the deepest corner of a closet. He smelled it.

Some hours later he was joined by another Recruit looking for news. He only remarked on a pretty comforter that he had found wrapped in plastic, cleverly hidden beneath a loose floorboard.

**/August, 2256**

Today, Daddy is coming home. Zelda's five-foot frame quivered beneath her bed with excitement. What might he be bringing back today. Food, of course, would be in his pack for them. What else had Mama asked for? They were running low on soap and toothpaste. And when she thought of it Mama needed more spending money for when the Caravans came 'round.

Eyes dilated as the bathroom light across from her turned on. There was one item, actually, that she knew, somehow knew in her mind a guarantee she would find in his pack. One that Mama had not mentioned. It was not the pretty dress that Sister had asked for. It was rectangular in shape. Usually an inch or two thick. The skin that wrapped around it varied with each one. But she particularly liked the leather ones, because they smelled like Daddy's big coat. It would be her early birthday present.

Her thoughts shifted to the figure sitting on the bathroom counter, staring at themself in the mirror. Small hands tightened into to equally small fists. She placed them under her chin in comfort. Lenore looked so stupid when she sat there. She just sat there. For hours some days. What good was it to just stare at oneself as if their mirrored self was going to start grinning and jump out? Lenore wasted her time. That was the kind of person Zelda had decided she was. She was the type of person who'd wake up, go to the bathroom, and stare at her reflection the whole day. No wonder Daddy prefered her over the blonde twin.

She scooted farther into the darkness of her bed's underbelly. Bland green bed sheets hung over the sides of the mattress. She was now completely concealed. She didn't really know why she liked to hide here. Maybe it was because when Mama told them to go to their rooms so she could spend time with her male friends, she felt safe. It also seemed to lessen the noises that came from outside her door during those times. The underneath of her bed was cozy now considering she had snuck the living room quilt beneath her haven.

Over the years, it naturally became the spot where she hid things or she herself was hidden. Several red and blue toy cars and her beige teddy bear lived here in fact. Lenore thought it disgusting to prefer sleeping on the floor, but Zelda usually ignored that cow's opinion. This was her safehouse. This was her playground. This was her substitute for a mother's loving, comforting embrace.

She had her nap under there and Daddy did not come that day.

**/September 25, 2256**

"Lenore why do you look in the mirror all day?" Zelda muttered quickly.

Zelda fidgeted with the ballet shoe on her bracelet. She had somehow convinced herself to waste precious time that could have been spent exploring as, 'Marine Z on her last mission', to instead and try speaking with her unmanageable sister. The conversation was already beginning terribly.

The other girl turned atop her polished wooden throne to stare down at the lowly peasant. She did not answer and turned back to her looking-glass, knowing full well that the silence would slice deeper than a sarcastic jab. Without a second thought to the girl who wanted friendship, Lenore continued primping.

The orange haired girl left the evil sister Queen. The embarrassment over how hurt she let herself be to her sister's cruel silence was shameful. Her tears muffled, and fell like desert rain.

**/June, 2257**

Blue eyes startled her.

She had, as usual, snuck off after dinner to go read under her bed. She held the ancient pocket flashlight in one hand. The other held a fantasy novel so big that she had to hold it to her chest so she didn't drop it. To her disappointment, the title was barely legible. The previous owner practically mutilated the poor cover with many sets of deep gashes. The only readable words were, "Pri and agon."

But Daddy was right. While the cover was a mess the inside was a godly white and dark, sharp letters serenaded her. From what he said it was the best book Daddy had ever found. The gift was heavenly.

As the night toiled on her eyes began to strain in their search for each sentence. She was just at the part where the villain was giving the hero the lecture of his life on how he was going to destroy him in a fiery explosion. On chance, she had decided to look up to check her surroundings. That was when the blue eyes appeared.

They immediately terrified Zelda. They were sudden and wild in their appearance, as if pushed to the edge of cliff and thrusted over in a rash decision. They, or rather she realized Lenore, continued their penetrating stare. The pounding in her chest was the only thing that betrayed her surprise.

She quickly whispered, "What!"

Now a curved nose centered itself between the eyes. Before she could think of trying to hide farther back a pair of fair eyebrows and pink lips joined the shadowed illusion of Lenore's face.

"What are you doing big sis?" The parted lips answered.

The flashlight she dropped had rolled a foot away, illuminating the opening in the sheets, and thus also her sister's pale face. Why was she curious? Immediately, she focused her attention on shielding her cranium from any of her sister's mind games. She was on the defensive.

"What's it to you?" Zelda asked carefully. She wondered if sis could see how angry she made her face be in the darkness. She welcomed it.

Lenore huffed. "Obviously I'm curious stupid."

The weather where they lived always felt dry, which in turn made the air really dry. Even in the house, the air was hot and stale from its travel. Now, under her bed both sisters were turning the confined space humid with their uneven breathing. Both felt the zaps of electric assassins, hostility dancing in the air, jump out and stab the other's face.

Zelda pushed the book toward her sister's hands.

"I'm reading. You should try it."

**/December, 2258**

"Zelda come in here and make the table for your mother."

Said girl ran into the kitchen, she was now ten, and her reddish-blonde hair bobbed up and down in its bun. Mom has yet to stick a syringe in herself. She even has that healthy glow, working around the kitchen with a youthful appearance. Today's good, she thought.

But Zelda knew her mother still viewed them as young children. Unable to put two and two together. She's was wrong though, at least in Zelda's case. It was a matter of time before the empty syringes in the bathroom made sense, with their cheesy label, Med-X. It had taken just a bit longer to decipher what the commercial name meant. Her mother's addiction to Chems was insatiable. Inwardly she cringed and her chest hurt when one of mom' friends came over. It always meant they would go to mom's room and either get high or have sex. And on occasion both. But she played the innocent. A bystander in the play of mother's life. She was ignorant to everything mother and on those times chose to escape outside, in the welcoming desert.

She set the last plate. There were five plates, but they always set four. Since there were four of them, she always wondered why they had the extra one. Maybe if one broke, but she doubted that. A deal on plates? She rested her hand on the edge and scratched it with her short nails, recalling a time when she believed such simple actions had the answers to everything. You just had to look. Ridiculous.

"Done yet my darling?"

"Yes mom."

"Oh goody why don't you be a doll and get your sister?" Mom pointed a spatula at her. "Daddy's comin' home tonight!" She crooned across the room.

She took her time searching, considering that there was only one place her sister could be. She thumbed her overall strap. Zelda had to admit she liked the feel of a dress. Loose and free and she liked the way it twirled when you spun in circles. Pants though, were much more comfortable when you were face first in dirt taking potshots at Molerats, or when you liked to hide on the roof and jump down to scare your sister.

The euphoria at being praised from Daddy was like nothing else, and she specifically remembered the time when they went hunting together for small game to practice on. She killed a gecko and skinned it. He had said that he would make her some gloves. For some reason, she associated pants with that memory.

There Lenore was sitting on the counter. Prodding at her skin for any blemishes that would hinder her appearance. She looked like a ghost compared to Zelda, acknowledging how much time the other girl spent outside, had developed a dark tan like their father.

Zelda could barely contain her excitement. "Dinner. Daddy'll be home too."

The green eyes flickered. "You know he's not coming. I can't believe you still get all excited when Mom announces the news."

She glared at her sister. "If I'd say so myself I'd think you had a problem with Daddy or somethin'." Zelda said.

Lenore twirled off the counter easily. She crossed her arms and stared back. "Not really. The man's a good enough father." She countered, "But I'm a realist big sis. I see _patterns_ and I _analyze_. I call back the facts and you know what? Dad has never arrived when Mom said he would. I'd say myself that I'm _good_ at judgin' character. The man comes and goes based on his own whims. Grow up and pay attention." With that, the blonde left her to her own stunned silence.

She watched her sister tread down the hall like some pre-war ballerina. Maybe she wasn't giving Lenore enough credit. Lenore obviously was much more aware than she let off. And that, for some reason or another, scared her.

They waited hours for man of the day to make himself known. Mom gave up and told them to eat the long gone cold meal of maize and Molerat steak. The maize was dry. The meat rubbery.

Mom would dismiss herself to meet some friends. She came home some time later. Falling halfway to her room where she fell asleep in the hall. There she dreamed of her body slick with sweat, her husband atop her with that half-grin of his nuzzled into her neck.

Lenore had her bath. She brushed her hair and once she curled in bed she held her hands together and prayed. To a being with no name, that she had only heard of from the dieing.

The disappointment of her father not appearing hurt, but Zelda also knew that he went really far and wide to sell his merchandise, so she had already prepared her mental fortitude for such a setback. Eventually she had settled on the metal sheet roof of their home. Coyotes howling into the night and the buzz of Bloatflies kept her dormant between awake and sleep. Yawning had nearly drifted her into a coma of better times and innocence, but Lenore's words clouded her thoughts.

This whole time, someone else was even more aware than she was.

**/July 2262**

Big leathery arms strangled the breath out of her. She in turn hugged tighter, rubbing her face into Daddy's chest. He smelled like sweat and cigarettes and she loved it. After a minute he let go and she struggled not to pout.

"Shut the door for me baby."

"Kay."

She did as she was told, shutting the door and deciding of her own that it would be a good idea to place the wood slab over as an extra measure of precaution.

"All of ya sit."

Daddy was tieing the bonds of the three people to the water pipe when the one of the girls refused to sit. She had brown hair and was the shortest of the three. Her face though was strong and she bore fiery, brown eyes at Daddy like knives. He was less than impressed. "I said sit girl."

She stared unwavering and solid. Zelda watched with interest as the minutes ticked by. After the air was thick with silence the girl's stance finally shook and she attempted to lunge at Zelda's father screaming, "Fuck you." Over and over.

Her Dad just chuckled to himself and instead of getting closer to the restrained animal he pulled out a device the size of a large deck of cards. Zelda already knew what this thing was. And for second, she almost felt bad for the girl who might have been her age. She should have just sit. With a flick of his thumb Daddy found the right button. He pressed it after tsking to himself and the girl fell screaming.

She convulsed on the ground as if having a seizure. Her hands pulling at the collar that controlled by one simple button was killing her. The man and woman next to her held each other as they were trying their hardest to further themself away from the one who spoke their thoughts. During this, Lenore walked in. She noted that her father was home and she gave him a hug. Then she left to get mother.

The pressure on the button lifted. The girl squirmed on the ground as the last of the convulsions ended. She panted and curled on her side, clutching her stomach in defeat.

"Now Nadena that's much better. See Zelda, this is how you treat defiance." Daddy stared at her seriously and pointed at the girl on the ground, "You remember this. You got family, my little Z, but other than them, you have nobody in this world. So you gotta make a living. Get your name out there."

He put the remote back in his coat pocket and sat on Mom's velvet red couch. He motioned for her to sit with him. She did. He cradled her to his chest and kissed her forehead. "I love you girly."

"I love you too Daddy."

"Remember the little things I teach you. Your Dad knows his stuff. The world out there," At this he motioned to the front door. "It's a shitty, shitty place. I don't mean to scare you though. I'm just trying to prepare you for the world outside our comely little shack. Alright girly?"

"Yup."

He rubbed her arm. "Trust no one. If you ever do anything do it for your self, ok? 'Cause that's how the world works. Everybody's out for themself and there's a saying that goes, If you can't beat 'em join 'em. So you might as well be on the winning team." He pinched her nose, which made her smile. "Who's the winning team?"

"Myself."

They both smiled at her answer. That was when Linda waltzed in to hug her husband, who got up to meet her halfway. They kissed as their teens exchanged mutual looks.

Zelda woke up. Her eyes were still closed though she could definitely tell something was different. Slowly she opened them, the darkness leaving her question unanswered. Why was she awake? She wiggled on her side to glance at Lenore in the bed next to her. She was sleeping soundly. As she lay in bed an unsettling feeling spiraled from her feet to the bottom of her stomach, where it rose to the tips of her neck and stayed. She felt uneasy.

She got up as the feeling made her spine shiver. Her feet swung themselves over the edge and she stood up. Take a few breaths. Calm down. Better get a glass of water and go back to bed. Zelda yawned and walked to the kitchen. The living room was the same. The two slaves slept huddled together. She grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with sink water. It tasted weird. Licking her lips she filled another glass and drank that one too. Then she filled the cup a third time and shuffled back to her room.

Glass rested on the night stand. Her body huddled into the warmth of covers and pillows. Minutes ticked by and something was wrong. She couldn't fall asleep and something in particular nagged her. She thought back and then it hit her.

Zelda nearly slid on the tile when she jumped out of bed. Her feet skidded and lead her to the living room. One. Two? Where was the other girl? Only one place, if they had not escaped, centered itself in her thoughts. Her body begged to run but she held her spot. Slowly she tiptoed down the hall. As she got closer to her parent's room, she could hear the soft exhales of them sleeping. But there was one set of breathing that was different from the others. Raspy and quick.

She had found Daddy's escaped slave.

She took a quick gulp of air, blowing it out gently. The slave girl stood rigidly, unmoving over Dad's side of the bed. It creeped Zelda out until she saw the knife grasped tightly in Nadena's hand. For a moment her mind went blank with the images of her parent's mutilated corpses. Until she saw Daddy's coat bent over the desk chair. It was on Daddy's side of the bed, right next to Nadena.

But inside the chest pocket of that coat was a device the exact size of a large deck of cards.

How was she going to get it? Only one plan seemed possible. She bit her lip and clung to the wall behind Nadena. Her feet were ghosts beneath her, edging closer and closer to the coat. She was within hands reach when Daddy sneezed and both the mouse and the cat jumped. Nadena went in for the kill.

Zelda sprang from her spot against the wall and grabbed the slave girl's hand. She could see the surprise and fear as their eyes met. That was the first time she would see the eye's of hate. Unbridled fury that turned to murder. And she was not Nadena.

She sucker punched the slave as hard as she could, causing her to fall, and struggled with the coat for the device. Her hand tore it from the pocket and pressed a button. Nothing happened. The other girl, having recovered, tripped Zelda with the back of her foot. Zelda tumbled beside her.

Almost immediately she looked for the knife, but it was missing from the slave's fisted hands. One of them made contact with her nose. The crunching noise frightened her more than the real pain. She struggled to breath. Every button was pushed. Still nothing happened. A moment before she was tired and anxious. Now her body granted sweet adrenaline.

She never got to use it though. Daddy seemed to appear out of no where. Pounding the girl's face in while she cursed and wailed in pain. Zelda didn't look away. Watched as a creature she had never seen her father be before became him at that moment. Fully and completely he beat the girl to death. It was only when her face smeared his hands and the tile did Daddy stop.

He gasped. Asking, "Girly you ok?"

"She tried to kill you and mom." Zelda muttered.

"Baby I asked if you're ok."

"I'm fine. My nose hurts."

He felt her face. "It's broken." His fingers smeared the girl on her.

"Why didn't the remote worked?" The question was killing her.

He deadpanned at this before saying oh and replying, "There's a side switch you press to turn the remote off. The collars still work. You do it so your pocket don't accidentally set off the buttons."

How dumb she was. That one piece of knowledge could have decided whether she died or not. Zelda held her face and sighed, ready to just tip over and cry. She remembered the girl was different. "That's not the one you punished earlier."

"Always be aware of the background characters in a play Zelda. They're the ones who get the best parts." He paused and looked at her, his eyes still wild with blood lust. Sweat dribbling from his temple. "This was just a small role in the big world out there. You still sure you want to leave in a few years?"

"Yeah Daddy."

"What in the fuck happened here Jo!" Mom finally woke up from her drug induced rest.

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><p>Were the Dates alright to begin these events with?<p> 


	2. I hate Benny

Oh my I'm finally finished with the dreaded Benny scene. Sorry it took so long, but that's how I am. Unfortunatly. I promise to do a once over with spelling later. I really just wanted to get this up. Plus I might go over some things, change it a little. Read and review and some critique would be nice.

Enjoy.

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><p>"Remorse is the poison of life."<p>

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><p>Side by side, she walks with Dad. Boots crunching against the gravel. Look, a Saloon, Father says. Immediately they walk toward it. Dry lips smack eagerly. The bags of gear weigh heavier with each step closer to society. Catch the quick pull of his hip. Revolver poised welcoming. Do the same with the pistol at hers. Big father hands push open swing doors.<p>

The people inside are faceless, noisy and unpleasant. Hand rolled cigarettes divided between their lips and fingers. It seems that everyone has a glass of whiskey in one hand and a hand of cards in the other. Two pairs of blue eyes roam the tables for one that is empty. There, the one in the back. She shadows Father's movements. Plop and the bags are down, shoved under a wooden table marked by rough hands. Hats set aside as the looker of a waitress asks: What can I get 'cha? Two Nuka. A trade of bottles and a refill of agua scribbled on the worn pad. Zelda can't help but watch the waitress' swaying hips.

She's lost count of time. Their table has grown, With two others pushed together in a hurried attempt. Four men and a woman have joined. More mercs. The girl must be their company, she thinks, as her eyes hop from the revealing fire-orange sweater and pouty red lips. Dad blows some smoke across the table laughing. His hand is garbage, but Dad shows nothing but confidence. She stifles  
>a cough.<p>

The men are unremarkable. Dirty hair. Sun kissed skin. Brown eyes and the occasional blue. Lean bodies. Hard worked arms and wiry muscles. Everyday stock. The man across from her slams his hand on the table and chuckles a rich, deep laugh. Dad joins in, stopping only to chug his scotch and stop, chewing the ice in thoughtful consideration to whatever Mr. Mustachio Bandido asks him.

It still surprised her how sociable father was. The chances of him meeting these people ever again were low. That was the sense she made to herself, what kept her quiet, spying on other patrons and sipping her third cola beside him. Life entertained him. Amused him. Everything somehow funny to only him. Like an untold joke. That, she decided, was the only reason. It was this reason he has aged well with, in comparison to others, his distinct crow's-feet and charming smile lines. It made him shake hands and hug people he had met a minute before. He walked distinctly -his right leg slightly shorter than its parallel counterpart - but somehow he made it seem like he was sauntering, confidant and ready for anything.

Zelda has seen sick people, like mother. She has seen the dead. She had watched her father hammer a woman's face in until he broke his hands.

She catches Dad's eyes as he calls for another glass. He gives her his beaming grin, unsuspecting. It's so infectious, she can not contain hers.

_Then she wakes up_.

The crust on her eyes acts as an organic glue. They're briefly imprisoned, and her eyes quickly hand over the reigns. The other senses writhe out, curious. Ready to heed the new sensation of amaurosis with childish excitement. Nose first. Smells like earth. Musty. She wrinkles her nose at the stink of sweat. No doubt herself. But no, it was somehow different. Thick in the air and unlike the scent that was definitely her own. It reminded her of a color not quite red but too dark for orange. A smidge too pink and not enough yellow.

A sharp tick. A shrill ringing. Then she smelled smoke.

Yellow. Zelda could feel it now. On her chest. Inside her eyelids. The warmth it glowed on her squinty face. She listened to the chirp of crickets and the chilling knell of October air. She shivered in her windbreaker. Tonight was particularly cold. So she tried to curl farther inside her sleeping bag. Impossible. Her teeth found home on her lower lip and she began to chatter them nervously. Then she wrenched open her eyes, biting harder to avoid a lone curse.

Her sight was blurry at first; the cause of watering eyes. Now she could see the yellow. The root, a gleaming lantern somewhere at her feet. Well that made no sense. She tried to move her hands. Her gloves, she sees, are conjoined together with rope. Palpitations quicken. Shortness of breath will ensue. She thinks all the symptoms of anxiety. It doesn't help. It never did. Only Carlos found comfort in fussy forethought. Carlos was the goofball you'd find in a bar, writing calculations on a napkin while the rest of his friends were catching up. Whom could carefully disassemble a gun the second time by memory. She wasn't him. It didn't calm her at all to think. She thought too much as it was.

Someone spoke. And they were quickly answered. That instantly terrified her, the sudden appearance, even that of a voice, scared her so much she missed what they were saying. Her thoughts sped through possibilities. Kidnapped. Enslaved. Today was not her day.

She squirmed for a second, rolling to her knees. Much to fast. She became blinded by a white flash. Possible concussion. She felt dizzy. As her eyes adjusted she struggled with her bonds. Little to the left. The right. She pulled in all opposite directions, as hard as she could. She groaned in frustration. Who the hell tied this.

"Guess who's waking up over here."

Zelda certainly heard that. Rhetorical. Taunting in tone. Her eye kept twitching. Today was so not the day she sang in her desperate mind. The voice had made her alert. She can feel the vibrations in the ground, the sound of digging and the nervous step one does when they shuffle their feet. This can't be true. Slowly she looked up, to the source of the voices, to see how screwed everything seemed.

Six people in total. Five Khans. Two stood out front, some arm lengths away from her. Lefty was dark-skinned and largely built. Wearing a white bandana and an impressive horseshoe mustache. Righty was anxious. A fidgety red-head. Shifting foot to foot. Gripping and regripping his shovel continuously. Withdrawal. Maybe Excitement.

Not good.

For a second though, she wanted to laugh. Her common response to stress. A normal behavioral reaction. Who did this guy think he was? This had to be the glaze on her sweetroll, the kooky misfit straight ahead, donning the ugliest suit she had ever seen. She thought of Valentin and his pointed mutton chops. So this was how she was to die.

The man in the suit spoke of cashing out then flicked a smoking cigarette at the ground ever so casually.

Suddenly Moustache lashed out his frustration by jolting his body forward, arms briefly raised beside him in a mock challenge. She flinched. Impatient, he mumbled about the speed in which they were going. Suit held up a single digit. Silencing him.

"Maybe Khans kill people without lookin' 'em in the face, but I ain't a fink." He paused with precision. Letting the sentence sink in to both his men and the dreading Courier like unfiltered water. He certianly spoke peculiar. "Dig?" He reached inside his suit and pulled out a platinum chip.

Huh. That's where it went.

His voice possessed her attention. "You've made your last delivery kid."

Somehow she found the nerves to snort in disbelief at this. She was about as much a kid as Suit was a lightning bruiser with a deadly back fist. He seemingly ignored her first reaction to his long drawn out speech. She quickly found out why.

Glistening in the smouldering glow of the lantern, he held a custom 9mm. Now his gun held her complete attention. And her eyes followed its every jerk, the twitch of his trigger finger mesmerizing. He spoke some more nonsense and pointed the beautiful handle in her direction. He was more inclined to shoot her after she desperately threw dirt in his face and screamed a high-pitched screech that pierced through air and duct tape.

Zelda never understood lectures, or philosophical discussions. Sister became religious. In her own way naturally, sometime after she realized what the world was like away from Mother's safe arms, before Father left without her. As she died in cemetary dirt, unkept, mourning every decision she made, the disappointed mold of a girl who liked to hide, she saw nothing in the darkness.

No light. No God. No images that granted some reassuring message in death. No chemical reaction in her expiring brain to give her semblance of hope. A Khan finished the deep spot that was her resting place. An umarked grave. Her consciousness faded.

* * *

><p>Victor assessed the risk each individual possessed at the top of the hill with his Threat Analysis Processor. Information sped to his databank and back. Eight seconds ticked by, he waited while the picture on his screen flipped from the friendly cowboy he sported around humans and its angry mirror image. It did not often do this change. Especially when around the town folk. 62%. The risk of injury to himself was just to high.<p>

He waited in front of his house almost impatiently, his claws squeezing open and close. Something was not right. The sun was nearly set, casting an odd shadow across the town. He waved at Doc Mitchel. That man was pleasant, his memory recalled. He always returned the wave. His gaze returned to the hill. Something was not right.

A gunshot rang through the air, waking him up from his powersave and instantly setting him into alert mode. It was late at night, that much he could determine at this moment. Victor rolled to the door and after a second delay opened it. He changed to infrared. Paused at the entrance to his house he scrutinized a left to right motion. It was that hill again. The Cemetary. This irked him greatly. He checked it again for humans. Seven. One signature was rapidly cooling. Perhaps that was the source of the gunshot, he wondered. But still, there was nothing he could do. So he waited once again, but this time he would not leave.

It took considerable time for the humans to finish their business and as soon as they were done they left the town. He stayed, situated in front of his house for quite some time. Seemed like all he was doing was waiting around today. That thought gave him the urge, the need to finally uncover what had been done. He felt so vigilant. Like having a brand new battery cell. He arrived at the top. Now to search.

That didn't take to long. The messily, finished dirt set him off first.

The outstretched hand reaching for him past sand and stones, a failed attempt to escape a suffocating tomb, pleading for rescue was the second thing.


	3. What is worth, worth?

Not much to say except that we've gone ahead of what the original Some Folks was at. Whoop de doo readers! Ha and all. So yes. Read and Review. Or just read. Whatever you like. I hope you are having a time reading this story. I can say that it's certainly gone past and back what I had planned to write.

Enjoy.

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><p>"It is a fraud to borrow what we are unable to repay."<p>

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><p>Please.<p>

It hurt Mom. The pain. Inside her head. The pounding in her ears clear as day, like pans and spoons beating together. **BAM BAM BAM**. Sharp lights and sounds blaring down inside her brain. It was all too much. Please. Later. She can do the dishes later. She can sweep the porch later. Now though in the water, she sank deeper. The voices muffled. Eyes tight. Water drowning out beyond the bath. Everything just, please, go away.

Rest.

Just a little rest. Just a minute longer.

_Wake up._

Please. She's so near to ending the noise. A blank quiet free of constant ringing.

_Wake up. Wake up._

Relief. It's there. So close she'll beg hands entwined knees buckled dear God just one more moment of silence!

_Wake up darlin'._

Light. The first light in so long. She blinks, trying to count how many are on the ceiling. There's whirring above. A wooden blade. Continuously slicing the air with each circle. To watch one. She struggles. Ends up making herself sick with nauseas and a need to chomp air. She tries to sit up, to gather a sense of where she is. Her arms. Her legs...They're like cooked noodles. Unresponsive. Stilled between the coarse sheets. Help. The word plays itself like a broken record in her mind. On the tip of her lips. Her tongue wedges between wetting them. Thumbs the roof of her mouth. The wall of her teeth. A motion so familiar and yet terrifyingly alien. Swollen with uncertainty and fear and then she thinks about never being able to speak again. She fights the numbness! She struggles to say, wail out that one word.

Help! Help! Help!

Her lips pucker at the pop and her tongue drags the L and at the end she can feel her teeth grind together. Grind so hard she wants to scream but she can't and the long E stretches on as rubber does, ending with a brief, brief hiss.

She whimpered, "Please."

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong! Why had she said please. So much effort and she didn't even say it right. If only she could move so she could beat her fists against the bed, against her face. If only she wasn't trapped.

"You're awake it seems." A man from the sound of it, spoke softly.

The roof seemed to close on itself with a battle of golden light and shadow. Who was this, she thought. At least she could turn her head. Oh wow. She felt like blacking out again.

He seemed old, older than dad. Balding head, a thick snowy moustache. Yellow tanned skin. He wore some farm outfit or other. Great. His eyes though were nice enough. They if anything eased her now steadying anxiety.

He squinted down at her with this really funny expression and it took a sec but she realized he was smiling. "Now, now you sleep lil' lady. Ain't time to get up yet. Your body just not done restin' an all. Hush now I'll go get another blanket."

She felt nervous, with him for some reason. That much she knew. With a nice wrinkled face and these eyes that gave off such a sweet, good feeling warmth. A voice that seemed able to lull the feistiest radscorpian to rest. He reminded her of no one particular person she had ever met. Maybe it was 'cause he didn't look like he'd ever backstabbed anyone before.

When it hurt to think anymore she took his word and slept. Slumbering fitfully, behind fever and an overwhelmingly doleful thought of loss that she couldn't quite determine.

OOO

"Sir." She moaned despairingly.

Sweat dribbled her brow and spit her lip. It hit her again, The plaguing nauseas and the hot chills, like a ton of grain. She felt the familiar movement in the back of her mouth and grabbed the bucket. Easily she released it all. Past her throat and down her lips. Just the taste in her mouth acidic and foul, almost made her gag again. This man. He had cared for her, saved her against any thought telling him to give up. She was so very thankful.

His footsteps were always cushioned. Soft atop the wood even in his hurry. He was beside her in a dizzying second, feeling her clammy forehead glass in hand with enough for her to clear out her mouth. She slobbered in the bucket. Gave him a look that spoke a thousand words all with the same meaning. He crinkled his eyes and whispered how she was getting so much better.

OOO

"Come test this jigger over here. Find out what we need to know."

She didn't want to get up in her skivvies. She didn't want to get out of bed. And she certainly did not want to go and see what that machine was gonna say. The old man though only crossed his arms with a bemused look on his face. He was patient and too nice for his own good. Kindness is a rarity. Something that when finally found, all it ever does is lead to mistrust. Tammy had said that. This puzzled her. Another name. So many names coming up with no voice, no face. She planned on talking to Doc about that.

The machine was simple. Displaying a range of numbers from one to ten. There were six choices of traits. An acronym she noticed. It spelled S.P.E.C.I.A.L. The numbers told confusing things, like how her strength was a four but her charisma was apparently seven. It didn't make sense, but she kept quiet as the old man scribbled down on his clipboard. A slow, unsettling start for this check up.

How long had she been bed ridden? Her arms were feeling weak. Mushy. Days blurred into nights. He let her go to the bathroom and bathe, he never even tried to peek, that strengthened her trust of him certainly, but that wasn't enough to keep the emptiness gone. Excercise. Fresh air. Soon. She would ask for those.

Questions were next. She sat on the fading couch with her legs tucked clumsily below her. Cold toes. She tries curling tighter. Doc takes his time alright, making sure each sentence is spoken clearly. Simple questions. What's her thought of the word dog. House. Night. Bandit. Light.

Mother. Mother? Skip it. Many words for that one. Fingers massage away. What a headache.

OOO

He set her back out into the world with a reassured A-Okay. Get some worldly rehab. No bar brawls. She wore his wife's vault uniform. It fit good enough; a bit big in the chest. It was a morbid reminder. A week ago she laid dead, murdered. Then, even though rescued she was at the edges between life and death, stuck beneath an old man's knife. Now she was expected to go on her way. Gratitude forever indebted.

Her forehead scar itched like hundreds of little ant legs were crawling inside it. It was terrible, hideous, plump and bloated on the left side of her face. Right below where her hairline used to be. Doc had to shave off a portion. Bandages wrapped her head thankfully, covering the scar and her new unsightly haircut fairly well.

Skittish feet skirt around the border of Goodsprings. Wanting to leave but unsure. They venture back to safety. Unable yet to take the finale push past an invisible line, nonexistent to others but marked unmistakably in chalk to her.

OOO

The bag Doc said she owns has a patch on the handle labeled 'Property of Feller,' so she's decided that will be her name for now. She was bound to pick something, eventually. Much better than Courier or her first idea, Six. Actually, a lot better. Those were incredibly stupid names. The town folk were only speeding up her decision with their repetitive investigating. It's the first of many a mystery she struggles to solve in her scrambled mind. There are tidbits, wee things she can recall from a time as another her.

A small family.

A tight-knit circle.

A memory of being wasted and happy.

A moment lost with a forgotten person.

Just yesterday she started crying in the Saloon as she ate a small bowl of soup. And she meant crying crying. The real kind where snot dribbles down your nose and you make ugly noises, choking back on unrestrained tears. She began hyperventilating at the corner table with the carving of a tumbleweed in the wood and it's so weird how she can remember this long word but not even what letter her name starts with. The air was incredibly uncomfortable for the few townies inside, even the quirky old man paid his owed and quickly left. The Poor Sunny, had to drag her back to Doc's house like some drunk who forgot how to stand. She slept a lot yesterday. Answered Doc's questioning gaze with an unintelligible mumble. Oddly enough, after that whole embarrassing episode of hers, she no longer remembered what at dinner she had once again remembered. She didn't try to search for it. Maybe that was correct, the thing to do.

OOO

Feller held her fist inches from the wooden door. Her other arm was holding a bundle close to her chest, clutched tightly in anxiety. The sun to her side beat down mercilessly. After a moment her hand resumed its action, knocking five times. She heard footsteps. A change of locks. The door opening so a peeking face could peer through.

"Uh oh hello there Feller. What can Doc do for you."

You could keep speaking. Tell more stories of time past with that comforting nostalgic twinkle in your eye. She stopped. Her hand shooting up to pluck an irritatingly loose eyelash. "May I come in sir. I will only take a few minutes," She held up the bundle, "I came to return this as well and...Yeah."

Oh of course he said. The door swung open. A stiff pat of the back. She followed him into the kitchen where he started preparing some drinks. The air was thick. Compromising their shared enjoyment of a good, long quiet. She wondered why this was so difficult.

Still unaware of anything unusual aside from Feller's new change of clothes Doc turned to pass her a mug. As their hands briefly met at the pass, he saw her swollen, pinkish hands. He looked back to her face. Feller took a second, not realizing he was waiting for her explanation for coming over. She froze up. Unable to hold anything for a reassurance since she put the package down. So she struggled for something. The table was the first victim to her death grip. Then a chair. She Sat. Doc just opposite of her did the same. He pushed through the awkwardness. Starting what she could not.

"Trudy tells me you helped that Rango boy." He clears his throat and smiles a bit hesitantly. "Says you were a true cowboy out there. Convinced her to get the town involved. Says we would have lost more if you didn't come in all silver-tongued." He laughs slightly.

She can feel the hand on her throat loosening. The cloudiness in her head clearing. Words spill quickly and easily now. A gear twists.

"Oh that was nothing sir. You should have seen Chet; you know him right?" Don't wait for an answer. "Probably the town's small enough. But yeah you should have seen his cheap tightlipped frown when I said how bad business'd be." She lets out a nervous giggle. Drowns it with her cup. Mmm Rootbeer. "I just wish I could have been more help for the actual fight, Y'know? Sit'n around an all while I watch from safety as people I'm just getting to know plummet down. Dead. I-"

Doc reaches out. Stops her elevating hysteria. Her steadily increasing volume. Places a worn hand on her shoulder. It burns. "You did what you could Feller and that's all that mattered. Know from my advice - You weren't ready to go off and leap into any fight yet. Physically or mentally. I'm happy you listened but it'll go and do you no good to lose sleep over something you weren't able to avoid."

They ring in her ears. _No good to lose sleep_. No good no good. A smirk forms and she feels the teeniest bit better.

Feller says, "Mind if have more?" While holding out her cup.

Doc mumbles sure and gets up with a creak, both back and chair. He pours and laughs about plain thoughts. "If I realized how close to the hip you'd become I might've bottle fed ya." He pulls away from the counter. Ready to ask where she's stayed for the night the past week and half, curiosity worrying him when he sees that she is gone.

His eyes land to what she must have forgotten.

Or left. A card is placed neatly on top. He picks it up, thumbing the thick paper. Unfolds it once.

**T**_h_**_a_**nk_s_

_-_**F**

One word. Six letters long. And it seems that almost every letter was written from six different people. Hand coordination is better. The medical man inside him chimes up. Still could use work. At least there is noticable improvement. He drops it to the side and unwraps the brown paper. Unfolds the outfit.

Fingers roam across each zip. Each pocket. The high neck and shining metal belt. Glossy boots. Abraxo can cause raw hands.

He catches himself. Gasps harshly and shoves the blue cloth onto his face. A shape fills it out. A face forms above where the neck should be. Nearly new. Like the day he met her.

_Elaine_.

He had let another use it. They could have thrown it out when they found something better, but it came back new.

Is that ok?


	4. Having a Sense of Myself

Hey. I apologise, for taking so long. Something happened in my life. Lost the will to write. I found it though. One day this will be finished. Not anytime soon anyhow but, until then, just know, I won't abandon this.

Yeah.

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><p>"Our humanity rests upon a series of learned behaviors, woven together into patterns that are infinitely fragile and never directly inherited."<p>

* * *

><p>The first thing bidding hello outside Goodsprings was a swelling corpse. It was surprisingly untouched, uneaten, judging by the smell it was still fairly fresh. A woman. She was naked. Young and dark-haired. Eyes brown, lightless. Abandoned in the middle of the road a few feet away from a lone trailer. The area between her thighs was wet and caked with blood. This upset her.<p>

There wasn't much to take from the dead girl's belongings. A dog eared magazine. The musty mattress. Some empty soda bottles strewn about. The trailer felt empty. Sad. This must have been her home. Even for one night. It was obvious where the girl's plan failed. The trailer was completely open to any confrontation. Heck, there wasn't even a door. Feller stared at the interior of the home and the girl. Stared until every line, every wrinkle, every bottle was stained into the darkest stretches of her memory. She was ready to leave. The death making her hands shake and her teeth clench. Something though pulled her back, to the body.

It took time. A good amount of effort. But she finished. Continued down the route her Pip-boy presented. She felt fulfilled. Leaving the girl's body atop the bed, fingers resting on her chest. Her hands needed scrubbing now.

What compelled her to touch the body? To protect what modesty it deserved but no longer possessed. Perhaps a sense of normalcy. Still, Feller kept thinking. When it came time for her to kill, who will care for the bodies of those? Did people just do that. Take and leave. Take and leave? If that was so, how was the ground not littered, piled body upon body. So close together. No room to step or move, until their tower tumbled over and crushed you with their weight and death.

Pick yourself up! The road held. Rocked her back to this world. Her knees felt bloody and she pushed herself onto them. Her hands grasped the chest leather. Breathe. Slowly. Slow its terrible beat. Yes. Can't afford it. Showing weakness is bad.

She chose to no longer walk on the road. This attack. That woman. She learns quickly, roads are dangerous. Those are good experiences to learn from.

OOO

She pushed past dry brush, one eye glued to her Pip-Boy and the other aware. She wished she had asked for instructions on how to use it. She wasn't very technological. That much was obvious. Red dots are bad. She figured that out from encountering those pesky lizard creatures a while back. Not too many of those close by. The arrow; that was her. Was steadily approaching Primm. Taking ground and expanding the ancient map with constant updates.

"Is anyone there?"

She froze. Her legs caught mid-stride. A hand fingering an unknown knob. Her breath evened. Slowed to the pull of her ankles lowering themselves deeper into pointy plants. Knees dusty, elbows pulling back to get the gun with an uneasy intention to shoot.

"It's alright. I'm an NCR soldier! Come out unnarmed."

An NCR. An NCR Soldier? She thought and thought and thought. Another acronym? The voice was low. Undoubtebly male. Had he seen her. She looked to where the road was. Her eyes stared past dry grasses.

There.

He wore a nice outfit. Unifrom. Wrinkled, but clean. A weirdly shaped hat shaded dark eyes. Face devoid of lines. So young...A boy with the intentions of a man. He hadn't seen her, she knew instantly from his still searching eyes beneath these silly looking goggles. She didn't want to speak to him. He was too unknown. The NCR too unknown.

A lamp flickered. Struggled with the oil and then burst brilliantly.

She roamed for a rock. Found one stabbing her hip. Heavy and irregular. The size of a large fist. She held tightly. Waiting for the man-boy to turn away.

Further. Further.

Her arm rocketed back! Flung the stone toward man-boy and wills it to go. Arch high above his head way up in the setting mandarin sky. Land loudly several yards away. He's startled.

She doesn't wait up.

Heart pounding go go go! Hands swooping front and back like knives to golden butter. Feller thinks. I am built for speed. She is incredibly quick. One blink. Close to Man-boy. Next blink. She's gone. Dissapeared into the brush. Her feet lead her through the steps. Lightly. On her toes. Ankles locked and sprinting. Breathe evenly now. Deeply. You don't have much left. Like a fish gasping for air. Built for speed, yes. Distance? Not at all.

The tightening in her chest squeezes one more time before her legs give out and she stumbles to the ground. The boy is a faint bother right about now. She listens for anything above her heavy panting, trying unsuccessfully until she's left steaming and frustrated. Surrounded by dirt and the menacing shadow of plants she turns over to vomit. All that comes out is a thin, watery mess. Her lungs taste like blood. She screams into her hands an anguished rasp, shuffleing until she is on her side, her arm becomes a makeshift pillow.

Feller says silently, "What have you gotten into, myself?" More to the soles of her feet than the quivering purse of her lips.

OOO

This is all familiar, somehow. She tiptoeing past armed men. The shade of night carefully eveloping her in its color. This is an outpost. The N-C-R. What odd name, what is the meaning? Feller stills next to a wall. There are people still awake. She sees their faces, their tired eyes laboring to stay open. The hands itching for a lone howl. A crash to spring them out of their coma. But it isn't difficult for her to slink away. Once, when she was nearly to the bridge connecting Primm a lone woman appeared. Feller's hands flung to her mouth. Though there was no squeak.

The woman peers around, a look of agitation manifesting in her frown. Several times Feller knew without a doubt that the woman's eyes caught her. They grabbed and they wrung her neck with their knowing. She felt a cold sweat on her back. The woman, seemingly satisfied with her brief look around lit a cigarrete. She let out a breath, slowly. The night was forgiving tonight. After an eternity of waiting, she shuffled slightly and winced. Her thighs were on fire from crouching so long. And when it seemed that she could finally escape, the woman lit another.

That was some time ago.

She would forgive the woman for making her suffer unknowingly. Just a few feet from where she had sat for twenty minutes, settled six, maybe a dozen landmines. Oh the night was very forgving. Her skin shuddered at the thought, that if the woman hadn't come at the time, she might just be a pile of meaty clumps. Past the gates she doesn't have to sneak as quietly. She checks her Pip-Boy. Straining to see the blocky letters without the light. She figured it a no-no right about now. 1:50 a.m. Time to check her surroundi- How many red dots could there be!

She raced to the closest building to her left and slid into it. Her body hitting it harder then she intended and she lost her breath. It didn't last long, the loss of breath. Her hand tembled for the knife in her boot. The handle became a comfort of sorts. So she held it close. An object to cook, to cut, to kill. The man around the corner, smoking the night of terror away would never see her coming. Escaped Convict. That's all he was, apparently, even to the machine on her arm. A combination of insomnia, fear, and anger filled her soul in that moment. She pulled that larger man backward with one stiff arm. Shoved his head forward with the other and sliced completely. He made no sound as his cigarette fell from his lips and tumbled down.

He bled all over her pants. Her shoes. She felt disgusted. Wanted so urgently to kick him away. Feller dragged him to the wall and looted him for a gun with alarming casualness. A .352 magnum. She grabbed it. Wiped her knife on the man's coat in a childish hissy for her dirtied clothes.

In her mind the taste of her first kill was bitter. She felt nothing. Perhaps in a few hours when things have calmed she would consider back on her actions and give in to something urgent, an awakening sense of wrong. She would prepare for it. For now, she wondered. How had she known how to do that. Slitting the throat looks easy enough. She mocks a slicing motion in the air as if to prove that yes it is entirely child's play. This bothers her.

She opts for shooting the other two men without much trouble. Silence seems the way to go in this world. She seems built for it. But a bullet is always an efficiently far gone way to kill someone. She has nothing that she knows of to prove, so holding back the cowardly way to kill is unnecessary. The Pip-Boy pings, shaking her from her thougts. The arrow points at the double doors to her left._ Go in there._ She has no idea what or who was in there, but even refreshing it shows no difference. _Go in there, Pip whispers to her._ It doesn't seem like the best of ideas, but there isn't anything else she thinks up. With some hesitation and a frustrated sigh she opens it.

OOO

Feller stares at the gentleman in front of her. A second later her arm begins to swing up with the gun, the older man's confused eyes widening. The barrel is pointing at his chest when she hears a harmonious melody of guns being cocked. She darts her eyes around and nearly has a heart attack then and there at the sheer number of individuals aiming at her. _You messed up silly-billy_. There isn't much to think about. Slowly she points the her magnum away toward the ceiling, arms bent in a comical whoopsie.

"Will the fact that I killed the bandits outside help my case?"

They look like normal people. Scared, really. A couple of them relax a fraction, but the rest seem to pull back tighter at their rifles and pistols. The old man raises a weathered hand, an amused smile playing his lips as he tells them all to settle down. She's confused at how quickly the whole situation is swept under the rug. So she's left with frazzled nerves for the time being.

He immediatly starts speaking to her between breaths of a cigarette, which makes her cringe at a sudden idea that this smoking is something common among Vegas folk. He goes on, with Feller half listening to it all. She notes his black skin with red undertones. The formal bowtie and much informal choice of overalls. Finally it seems like she has a chance to speak, so she hurries to the point.

"Some men stole my package. A man in a checkered suit and some thugs. Did they come around here?"

Her voice sounds cracked. The words having a pattern. An odd spacing in between each word. That wasn't there a day before. She hopes some water can fix the scratch. If the pattern never leaves, that too will be on her list to repay Checkered Suit with. Right under uncomfortable head scar. Oh, and dieing. That's at the tippy top for sure.

She thumbs the safety on. Shoving it more or less in the holster..


	5. The Struggle to Remember

I'm a lazy fuck. There. I've called the 'ole muse out. Oh well. Deadlines are for people who can actually keep 'em. But I'm still going woohooo! But yes, at this rate I might as well say, something...Of signifigance. Hmmm.

Any **Beta Readers** out there looking for work? My skill in writing fight-action-kool moments is lukewarm. There, I've taped the ad. Leave me alone Zelda.. On anoother note,

Thanks for the support my readers! I'd like to thank my reviewers for taking the time to type their little tidbits for me to read over a thousand times. Really, it helps, both of you. And even my anonymous viewers. You may not think it, but even one little viewer makes me giggle like a, watcha-ma-call-it? Idiot. Buffoon. Yup. that's'a me. And my alert. I cried like a bitch. Happy Macbitch tears, of course.

I'm lame.

And I promise to not use the swears as often. But I'm 'cited to write this, I think. No, yes, I am.

Enjoy.

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><p>"Not the power to remember, but its very opposite, the power to forget, is a necessary condition for our existence."<p>

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><p><em>S<em>_he watches the lean woman with a bright green mohawk speak, with the three people recruiting at a wooden table. The setup is funny. The first of anything like it she has ever seen. The table is stacked with fliers and a plain banister with the words, "Join Today! The Canes Bellum Guarantees Wealth, Power, and Adventure!". There is a blond, tanned man as well as a smiling hispanic and an attractive black woman behind it, sitting in chairs that look like they were scrounged out of the hills last night. The hispanic seems to be doing most of the talking, now and again turning to his members as if asking for some reassurance to prove a point. _

_"-we leave to deliver the shipment we can go and grab some breakfast at that sweet 'ole ma'am's diner if you want Girly. Girly?"_

_Zelda snapped out of her thoughts. Catching Dad mid sentence. "What Dad?"_

_He reaches down to lighty smack her on the back of the head. "Oi! Were you even listenin'? What's been keepin' you in the clouds?"_

_She rubs her head. Her eyes slowly finding their way back to the stand. In her peripheal, she can see her father follow her eyes until he is staring as well._

_"It's a recruitment station for amatuers. To get some suckers to do all their work while they prance around with bottlecaps flowin' from their pockets." Dad looks back to her, an uncharacteristic frown staring into her. His eyebrows shoot up as a thought escapes him. "Oh no, no...No? Wait-Yeah Z I said no! " He takes her silence unsettingly. "Come on ain't I taught you anythin'!"_

_"Just give me a look Dad I'll be there in back in a minute, alright?"_

_He can't stop her though because she has already started jog-walking. She looks back and smiles, her hand attempting a comforting wave. Surprisingly, Dad doesn't grin back. He wears his card face. The one for business or Poker. Or maybe both, actually. He tips his hat toward the diner he mentioned earlier and leaves in the opposite direction. Why is he acting so...gruff, she settles on the word. Just checking, sheesh._

_Step by step, her throat forms a lump the closer and closer she gets to the table. It's like a gun pointed at Zelda's back and she has to go in the store or they'll shoot her dead and she doesn't want to go out that way. No one wants to go out that way. But they don't know. They don't know her plan to pull Toothpick out her boot, ready to swing around whooping WAHOOO like a player going for all or nothing. 'Cause they don't know who they just took for their stick-up, and this Feller knows when to stand and when to sit. They don't know this Feller's want to live._

_Up close to the table she can see how short Mohawk girl is. She's speaking animatedly with the hispanic. Something about explosives...She picks up one of the fliers and is almost taken aback by the cartoonish illustration. Five figures of varrying ethnicites-at least from the crude coloring they seem to be varrying in white, black, and grey- are posed in exaggerated, "dynamic" poses. Each one different. Two surpise her by looking like women._

_"Interested?"_

_She looks up. The black woman is staring at her, smiling. She's wearing shorts. A dirty, denim jacket over what looks like some sort of peach tank top. And her braids are decorated with painted, wooden beads. She looks good. Pretty. And healthy for a Merc. The woman looks at her funny, then she realizes that she hasn't said anything. Has only been ogling. That's not good._

_"Uh yeah, maybe. I was just lookin miss, at your um, flier. It's real nice." Her hand waves it to and fro._

_"Oh." That wide-tooth smile returns. "Well you can't actually take them." The woman rests her her hand on her hip, her face looking at the two men to her right before rolling her eyes. "We spent a fortune getting them made and we can't even use them for their purpose." She snorts nasally. Holds out her hand, "I'm Sherry, by the way."_

_The gesture catches her off guard. Has she ever shaken hands? Or is that Dad's thing. At Zelda's hesitation, Sherry pulls back her hand. Looking the least bit offended. "How 'bout you think about it. We're gonna be open tomorrow at nine. Besides," She looks past her for a moment. "Your company strikes me like he wants to bite my head off."_

_She turns around, unsure what Sherry's talking about until she sees him. He's sitting at the diner at an outside table with a mouth full of somethin'. Eyeing the whole exchange like he's never seen a conversation before. Her cheeks feel hot with something. A grimace evidently taking her every feature until Zelda can feel sweat on her neck and her ears turning red._

_"Expect me at nine-o-clock sharp." She tips her hat to avoid the other girl's gaze._

_"See ya sweetheart."_

_Walking to to him, she bears her eyes at Dad. Embarassment consuming her being, her state of walk. Anxiety and anger make themselves gluttonous with her thoughts. Filling themselves until they find the growing knub of fear. Beneath the poker eyes of kin. Deep beneath. Reflecting off one another._

_OOO_

She wakes gradually at first. Blinking away the black dots. Chest thumping. Hand squeezing her chest with an intesity that stings. A lump in her throat forms choking back a near insistence to scream. Then she shoots herself up. Cracking her neck in the process. Her eyes race around the room. The smell of fire and blood pungent. A two-headed cow is roasting above some rubbery-tire, tires? Yes, tire things. As she moves to get up, pain sears along her middle, and she intakes fiercely. Her hands find the spot where she begins to feel it. Long, thick bandages wrap her torso. They're soaked through.

"You uh..awake miss?" a voice calls out.

To her right. What looks like another room. She finds her gun and holds it with shaking hands. She stumbles up on her legs, taking tiny baby steps as she breathes heavily. This isn't good. Something's wrong. Why can't she remember the reason. Her tummy hurts Daddy. She goes around and sees a man. Please rub it, that always makes it better. He's tied up.

"Why you tied up?" She asks groggily, wiping off the crusty, and yes, that's red stuff, from under her nose.

He's shivering, sitting cross legged in the farthest corner from where she stands. At the question, he gives her a brief look of..Uncertainty, maybe. She's not exactly sure. His voice stutters and then he says,

"Those Powder Raiders kidnapped me miss. They tied me here and I'm very thankful you killed them all. You possibly mind..Untiying me, perhaps? My hands are going' awfully numb."

Her thoughts wade through a growing fog. Fatigue weighing her eyelids. She stares at the ground, considering why she's even here. Suit man. Bullet. Came here. Beagle knows. Quick words come in and out of the grey, creeping along her eyes and back.

"You are Beagle?" she asks. Stepping to him. Her hips drunkedly swinging at their unwillingness to move.

"Yes Ma'am, M-Miss."

This room has a semblance of a kitchen. The refrigerator's turned over. And the walls are holding shelves filled with all kinds of food. Dry. Boxed. Fresh. Freeesh fruit. She wanders over to grab a blueish hued fruit. Her nose tells that it smells eatable. When she looks back to see a mildly frustrated Beagle, she once again tries to stay focused. Her legs fail to hide a limp, something that's probably been there this whole time and she has just been too oblivious to notice. So when she hops up onto the table that barely holds her, she shows some panic. Nearly jumping back down at the wobbliness of it. Beagle doesn't seem to have noticed, as he continues staring at the fruit.

She looks it over. Wipes it against her shirt and offers Beagle a bite. There must be something about her that bothers him because he takes a bite, when a moment before he had looked it over with distaste. "I was told you know where Suit is?" That is why she is here. It is one reason that her side now hurts, and another that kept leaving here not an an option. She chomps down where he had. Her mouth softens slightly.

Beagle swallows audibly. Nervousness? Possibly the fruit. "Oh-I ,well, Miss, who is suit? I mean-If I knew anyone by that it'd ring a little but. I'd definitly tell you. I just..." Feller drowns out the rest of his poorly worded stammering. The voice tells her to not sleep anymore. She looks around, intently eyeing each lump on the fruit, the interesting intention the creases on her hands and wrist take, having half a mind to close her full mouth. Who is suit?

Oh! He is Checkered Suit first and last. A man secondly. In name only, Murderer. Now, articurate tha-no, wait. _Ar-tic-u-late_ that, to Mr. Beagle.

"Suit, as I call him, is a black or brown-haired man wearing a black and white checkered suit. He may or may not be accompanied by three or four thugs. Maybe five. Where is Suit?"

He sits quietly afterward. Evidently thinking it over and resolving to mull in solitude. Her attention eagerly returns to the appetizingly, juicy fruit...

A good eternity later, he hollers out, "Well now that you explained him a bit. I think I saw your man." Which chokes her of a particularly big bite. Her ignores her coughing fit, and continues, "But as would be an equal exchange, might you untie me first." He punctuates untie by turning his back and having a show of his wrists, smiling somewhat.

Her brow darkens. She swallows and clears her throat painfully. _No_. What is this, she thinks. Tell. Tell me. Her mind races back and back, disoriented from its play. You are the messenger. Do your job.

"Tell me where."

Fingers clench out and in. The fruit lies somewhere at their feet, its hold on her distant.

He speaks tight-lipped, "Untie me first." Eyes stirring as pools. Bearing at her that sparking defiance. "Do you need me to promise, I can do that. I promise to tell you after. There, is that good?"

Chest weak, her heart needs those eyes. Needs to feel their spark and pulse. Her voice lowers and trembles to him, "I will free you after I am told."

"No, ma'am. No, I cannot agree to that."

Out the grey from far, far away. Feller's scream echoes. She stumbles down and grabs a good hold of him. The motion is awkward and she trips, her body flinging them into the wall, Beagle takes the brunt force, while she retightens her grip. It doesn't contain her heavy gasp. And it does not hide the peaking warmth in her side.

She slams his head into the wall as hard as she can. Her fingers work open his eyes, where she shrieks into them, past them, "Tell me where he is! Or you will rot like the other no ones!"

OOO

The air is damp, moist and clinging to the skin with humidity like a child's touch. Sticky and excessive. She sniffs it, peering past the houses and to the road. Where she needs to go. Her grip on the bridge of her hat lessens at this thought. Her boots chomp down on gravel. Steady, at a snail's pace in compensation to her numbing side.

Some half way down the road the sky shudders as a breath. Its gasp a crash of thunder. Which follows as Feller guessed, a light rain embracing ground.

Her cracked lips open just an inch, sending out a darting tongue to taste the sting. It only hurts a little, she notes, before she gets used to it.

_That table was bolten to the ground..._

Hmm. Interesting.


	6. Not Quite There

Hello thare readers. I feel like crawling out of my hole this evening. Deciding to throw this little bit of word soup out there.

I kinda struggled to write this, and when I didn't give up, merely taking an extended break to forget all about it, that I sat in front of my computer and finally just _wrote_. I usually write these scenes at school, and trust me, they seem so much longer on paper. The first scene in here anyway went completely wonkers to what I originally wrote. That makes me kind of sad I guess. But it made Miss Zeller (No? Was that a terrible combo name, yeah?) seem like a...

Sociopath?

Hmm, I mean she's certainly something else. Just read onto the Radscorpians. You guys don't even know how the simple motivation of getting to write Benny's scenes with her keeps me going. If only to write what Felda (Err, was that worse?) plans so eagerly for him. Oops spoiler? Ha, hardly I'd think. But I guess I have so many plans for this Fic. I mean, yeah. If I wasn't an idiot and litterally writing these chapters, chapter to chapter, I might be farther along with less headaches. Oh well. There's so much to tell with her story.

If it take me five years I'll, hell, who cares. As long as I have one person reading this, I'll write on.

Enjoy.

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><p>"They say you see red when angered, but I'd like to disagree. I don't see red. Not blue or yellow or green. I see everything as I usually do. Clear, and me completely aware of every action that I make. I think that's what scares them. The thought some of us see clear, and not red. And that I know the whole time what I'm doing is just wrong."<p>

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><p>Marching the path her metal arm lead to was easy. There were bumps along the way. Like those PowderPuff men, or whatever they went by. She had stomped a ways from the road to relieve her aching groin when they thought best to jump her. Needless to say, those three didn't expect the iron club that was moments later bashing through each of their jellied skulls.<p>

There seemed to be one thing Feller was certain about herself, that these few days of consciousness had made obvious. She was a being stuck in continuous preparation. The sensation was something else. And it left her feeling watched, with thoughts of ever-open eyes hidden everywhere. Maybe it was the past nights of little sleep, or even the amount of blood she'd lost in her recent skirmishes that made her fearful. She thought to much too. Of people that rung familiarly in the pit of her throat with ghost names. She had dreamt of a man the night before. A man with cranberry hair and eyes textured like sand. Something of him leaving her breathless in recognition. His name so close to the tongue, she could taste the letters.

"Babe. Five minutes," a woman's voice cooed gently, almost inaudibly to the ear, "I make sure we're done five minutes. 'Fore ther' back."

Feller slowed her step and knelt hidden, adjusting her attention for the source. Her brows mirrored together. She strained her ear. The faint womanly, mewling was close actually.

The way the noise hit her was, frustrating, oddly. What noise was this, giving her arms persistent bumps. Then she popped her mouth, lifting up her head slowly in cluttered realization. She peered over the road. Just to see. Opposite of her and the road. And There. The man and woman. The woman fawning over him enticingly. Their bodies frantic against the cemented walls. The dirt was interesting now as her face reddened. Her mind replaying the scene over with embarrassed fascination.

Her feet wouldn't slink away any faster if she tried. Her groin aching in a much different, confusing way.

OOO

She was in no mood. Certainly not for anything wanting to kill her. That was getting old pretty quickly.

Nope nope nope. She holds one clicking beast down with both feet. One for the back and the other for the stinger. Her club makes quick work of the fat stinger, pulverizing it to a meaty looking bowl as the large thing squeals beneath her agonizingly. Its pincers swinging wildly at her.

She bends down, one foot now secure on its back and strokes the place above its eyes. "Oh little moth, are you angry?" Feller whimpers down, a genuine smile breaking her fooled sympathy.

The creature hisses at this and beats it disfigured tail into her hip, vainly struggling to keep at killing her. Leaving her hip colored with its blood. The poor limb hits her a few times before snapping backward, causing it to scream now, shaking violently beneath her.

Feller doesn't know why she likes this. And then, in a flurry of sudden emotion she shoots herself up and jumps on it. Quicker than the poor thing can run off. She strikes it once. Twice. Three times. She flings her booted feet down and down and down. Wet, sticky noises rebound out. Mixed with the growingly faint squeals of the clicking beast. She doesn't stop until the armor on the back breaks, with a little help from her merciful club.

Eventually it becomes boring, especially when it stopped making noise itself. She climbs down, groaning tiredly. Her eyes roaming across the abandoned station. There are several other carcasses.

A clicking answers the soft thrum of her club tapping the hard leather of her boot-tip. Feller turns to see a little one stampeding its way to her, claws swinging to and fro for intimidation. She frowns, the cute little thing causing her to feel the complete opposite, where glancing in the distance then shows two metal men. She checks her Pip-Boy arm, but her breath hitches suddenly. A nipping in her ankle catching her off guard. She looks for it and immediately finds the problem. It's the wee baby trying its hardest to cause as much damage as possible.

Her light eyes trail the sky back to the metal men, one boot setting atop the now squirming baby.

With a downward push she hears a crunch.

OOO

"You might as well rid yourself of that trigger finger." Sam said innocently. Walking beside her as they walked up the road.

Unscrewing a cap Feller chippered back. "It's kept me alive. Seems enough reason to keep." She chugged down another water bottle.

Sam regarded her with one raised brow. "Missy slow down. Gonna get yourself a tummy ache if you suck 'em back like that."

The Merc behind them groaned loudly. The Latin man willingly showing his disapproval of their chatter. Sam merely looked him over funnily. Muttering under her breath something Feller didn't catch. He had point, if some red-faced crazed woman had ran out of the brush shaking a revolver at her, babbling about talking doors. Well. They'd be dead. It was only her own dumb luck this naive girl had told him so readily to wait. And it was also lucky of her that the girl was generous enough to give her water.

It seems it's not possible to trek across the desert without being sucked to the bone. That also explains why she started seeing flying windows.

The brahmin, as Sam had called it, mooed aloud, causing the young woman to lean over and pat it sweetly. "Shhh Rebecca sweetie pie we're almost there." To prove a point, she pointed at the metal men just over the edge. "See, almost there."

Feller smirked, which caught Sam's attention.

Sam looked her over defensively. "What?"

She chuckled dryly. "You've named it Rebecca?"

The girl started to speak, and stopped. Making a soft, strained sigh. She cleared her throat and put on a wide smile. "_Her_ name, is Rebecca." Sam mused, eyes unexpectedly glassy.

And just before she could ask what was wrong, the metal men towered above.


End file.
